


This Mortal Coil

by KariAnn1222



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Drama, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Harry Potter Next Generation, Heterosexual Sex, Masturbation, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings, The Quidditch Pitch: Self Pleasure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-01
Updated: 2011-03-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 15:23:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KariAnn1222/pseuds/KariAnn1222
Summary: Rose Weasley is inarguably a brilliant mind, but what happens when one of her experiments goes wrong? What was intended to be a journey into alternate realities mistakenly transports her back through time, to during the war before her birth, dragging her longtime rival/frenemy Scorpius Malfoy along with her. Will Rose and Scorpius be able to find a way home without having an adverse effect on the timeline?





	1. Chapter One: Games

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
> **Author's notes:**
> 
> Please let it be known that while I'm aware that Rose/Scorpius is a popular pairing, I haven't, in fact, read a lot of fics about them. Actually, I've only read the first few chapters of ONE fic, and that was several years ago. All this to say that I haven't been influenced by how the couple is generally portrayed in "fanon," so any similarity to other fics is entirely coincidental.
> 
> I'll admit freely that I got the general idea for this story from the 90's TV show, "Sliders," and from all the "Star Trek" episodes I used to watch that dealt with multiple "timelines" and "alternate realities." (Yep, I grew up a bit of a sci-fi nerd. Okay, more than a bit.)
> 
> Also: I have no idea what some of the "warning" options meant, so you'll forgive me if I missed any, although this story won't contain anything more kinky than hetero sex & one masturbation scene.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I do not own the _Harry Potter_ franchise and am making no money from writing this. No copyright infringement is intended.

" _For in that sleep of death what dreams may_

_When we have shuffled off this mortal coil…"_

— _from "Hamlet, Prince of Denmark" by William Shakespeare_

oOo

_Chapter One: Games_

oOo

The rain was almost blinding as it poured down her body in rivulets, plastering her hair to her face, soaking her robes until they were water-logged, the extra weight causing her broom to sway scarily—or maybe that was the wind, which was now blowing so hard that it gave the illusion that it was raining sideways.

She gripped her broomstick tightly between her thighs with renewed vigor, shoving her cumbersome hair out of her face with her hand that wasn't struggling to maintain her balance on the broom. _Who the fuck came up with the idea of flying around on broomsticks, anyway?_ Rose Weasley thought in annoyance. It was actually quite absurd, even impractical when one thought about it.

"Hey, Weasley, where the fuck's your head?" someone shouted at her, and it was only then, as a combined uproar of cheers and jeers emitted from the stands far below, that Rose realized that the Quaffle had soared right by her head, scoring another goal for Slytherin.

Focusing on the darkened figures soaring nearby in the sheets of rain, she recognized the smug, victorious face of Scorpius Malfoy, whose fist was raised in triumph even as he stared at her in supreme disappointment. "Since when do you let a little foul weather affect your performance, Weasley?" he taunted loudly over the tumult.

"Yeah, like you'd know anything about my _performance_ , Malfoy!"

Even through the heavy deluge, she didn't miss the slow grin that spread across his face, and she briefly considered their strange relationship. They had been instant rivals from the moment her father had told her to beat Scorpius Malfoy in everything when she'd been only eleven years old and tremendously impressionable. Though he'd been joking—mostly—Rose, who'd always been "Daddy's girl," had been terrified of disappointing her father. (In fact, she'd been sick with nerves up until the point where the Sorting Hat had placed her in Gryffindor House. Until that moment, she'd lived in genuine fear of being placed elsewhere.)

Over the years, however, Rose and Scorpius had formed a sort of uneasy alliance, which had developed into an awkward friendship, forged by the fact that they were consistently the top two students in their shared classes, often working on class projects together. When combining their talents in Potions, for example, they were unrivalled, unstoppable. It was during the long hours they'd spend in the library together and in the dungeons that the sexual innuendos had begun.

It was a long-standing joke between them. They never followed through on the suggestive remarks, though if Rose was being honest with herself, she was, in truth, attracted to Scorpius. He was handsome, she had to give him that, his skills on the Quidditch pitch were admirable, he had a brain in that thick skull of his—obviously, or she would've refused to be paired with him during assignments—and he was funny in a dark, sarcastic sort of way that matched her own.

However, it was his smug, arrogant attitude that kept her at bay. Well, that and the brain-dead Barbie Dolls he wore as arm ornaments. According to the whispers in her dormitory, you weren't a woman until you'd been deflowered by Scorpius Malfoy, Sex God Extraordinaire. Not, of course, that Rose put any substantiation behind such rumors. She didn't know whether he was, in fact, a shameless philanderer or not, and quite frankly it was none of her business.

The only thing about Malfoy that concerned her was the fact that he was currently kicking her arse at Quidditch, and that just wouldn't do—especially since this was their first match against Slytherin of the season, the first time they'd played the House since Rose had been promoted to Captain, in fact. She'd never hear the end of it if she let the prat win.

With a growl of determination, Rose leaned down low on her broomstick, positioning herself on the defensive as the game resumed…

"… _and the Quaffle goes to Wright, who passes it to Griffin, who's intercepted by Potter—man, that boy is fast!—who passes it to Weasley—"_

Rose watched on, groaning as her brother was nearly knocked from his broomstick by a Bludger, and the Quaffle was intercepted by Malfoy once more, who was streaking her way, that smug expression firmly in place.

Ignoring the jeers and cheers from the crowd below—through the din, she thought she heard her dad yell, "C'mon, Rosie, don't let 'im get another one by you!"—and the rain still plastering her hair to her face and weighting down her robes, she flipped on reflex, hanging on to the broomstick by her arms as she kicked on instinct when Malfoy released the Quaffle.

She watched on, feeling triumphant, as the expression of jubilation melted from his face, turning into one of disappointment and surprise, which he shrugged off immediately. "Luck, Weasley!" he taunted her as the crowd exploded once more.

The game was a close match: Gryffindor would be in the lead for a while before being one-upped by Slytherin, and then Gryffindor would be in the lead once more, and so forth and so on…

The game finally ended when Slytherin's Seeker caught the Snitch.

Utterly annoyed, she drifted to the ground, where the crowd was already spilling out of the stands and onto the pitch, but all Rose could think about was getting to the locker room and changing into dry robes. She couldn't bear to see the disappointment in her father's eyes, nor the sympathy in her mother's.

She was aware of Hugo and Al nearby. She knew that their expressions would mirror her own discontent, so she couldn't look directly at them. Irrational though the thought may be, she felt as if she'd let them down. She was their Captain, after all. "You played a good game, everyone!" she called to her team at large, ignoring Scorpius, who was wallowing in victory nearby with his teammates. "But we're training extra hard this week! We're not letting Slytherin beat us again."

"They only won because of the stupid Snitch!" Hugo complained, glaring at Henderson, their Seeker for the past season. "How will _all_ of us training harder help?"

"I couldn't see shite in this bloody mess!" Henderson shouted defensively, throwing out his hands to indicate the sheets of rain that continued to drench them all.

"Well, _their_ Seeker apparently had no trouble."

" _You_ try being Seeker in this weather if you think you can do better!"

"I'm a _Chaser_! I can do my bloody job no matter the weather!" Henderson and Hugo were now nose-to-nose, aggressions running high.

"Enough!" Rose shouted, inserting herself between the two boys, her hand on her younger brother's chest as she shoved him away from Henderson. "We're a _team_ , you dimwit!" she shouted at Hugo. "Placing blame on one individual will get us nowhere. We all train together, got it?"

He merely glared at his sister, his arms crossing over his chest stubbornly, which only had her rolling her eyes. She wasn't in the mood to deal with this testosterone-induced idiocy.

"Rose, I know you're upset," a familiar voice chastised from just behind her and to her left, "but I've asked you not to speak to your brother like that."

She wheeled around to see her mum and dad: The rain didn't touch them. Instead, it fell _around_ them, as if repelled by an invisible field. She'd have to ask her mum about that charm, so maybe next time it rained on the Quidditch pitch, she wouldn't be blinded.

"Good game, Rosie, Hugo," Ron Weasley said cheerfully, but she couldn't quite meet her dad's eye: She was too embarrassed that they'd lost to Slytherin during her first game against them as Gryffindor Captain. Just behind her parents, she saw her Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny talking with Al, Lily chattering next to them excitedly, all protected by the same Repelling Charm as Ron and Hermione.

At that moment, Hermione pulled her into her arms, and Rose—a couple of inches taller than her mother—allowed herself to be hugged.

"Dad, we sucked," Hugo stated.

"Hugo," protested their mother at her son's use of the suggestive verb, while their father chortled.

"You didn't suck," argued Ron. "You had that game; if your Seeker knew a hippogriff's backside from—"

" _Ron—"_

"See!" Hugo said childishly, rounding on Rose. "Dad even thinks so!"

She rolled her eyes, ignoring her brother. "We lost, what does it matter about the specifics of the cause?"

"Rosie, just seeing the expression on that Malfoy kid's face when you blocked that one shot made it all worth it," her dad said, his blue eyes sparkling with laughter. "I'm proud of you."

Rose couldn't help but grin slightly at her father's approval as Hermione released her, and Ron reached for his daughter, engulfing her in his arms.

"Honestly, it's only Quidditch," Hermione said, her brown eyes that were so similar to Rose's rolling dramatically. "The important thing is that you learn sportsmanship. Isn't that right, Ron?"

The three of them stared at her like she'd said something exceedingly sacrilegious. "Er, sure, Hermione." At that moment, Ginny wandered over, and Hermione turned toward her and Lily, becoming lost in conversation. "She just doesn't get it, your mum," Ron added in a whisper to his two children.

"Look, I'm gonna go change into some dry clothes now," Rose told her father, picking up her broomstick out of a mud puddle. "I'll see you and Mum at dinner. I just want to be by myself for a bit."

"'Kay, love you, kiddo."

She mumbled a response as she stormed across the muddy field toward the locker rooms, admittedly sulking over their loss to Slytherin. Once inside the girls' locker room, Rose ignored the handful of female Quidditch players, Slytherin and Gryffindor alike, as she took a long, blistering-hot shower, the steam filling up the room.

She was standing in her knickers and bra, towel-drying her hair when someone cleared their throat. Rose glanced up, momentarily startled as she'd believed herself to be the last straggler in the female locker room.

Scorpius Malfoy lingered in the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest, one eyebrow raised as he unabashedly appraised her mostly-nude body. She rolled her eyes as she continued to dry her hair, pretending to be unconcerned about her state of near-nakedness. "Lost, Malfoy? Or did you come to gloat?"

"No, Weasley, on either count. As it happens, you mentioned my knowing nothing about your _performance_ , so I came to remedy that."

"Did you?" she murmured coyly, stifling her grin as she turned to face him, kicking the locker door shut as she dropped her clean robes on the bench. She didn't attempt to cover herself; to do so would indicate weakness, and she had no intention of giving him that sort of satisfaction. "We wouldn't want Daddy to catch his only son in here trying to bed the offspring of a Mudblood, now would we? I think it might just break his little pureblood heart."

He merely smirked at that, his eyes never once leaving her chest, and she felt an inexplicable satisfaction that she'd chosen her red lacy knicker-and-bra set rather than plain cotton undergarments. "They're called _breasts_ , Malfoy. And from what I hear, you've seen enough of them that one more pair should hardly impress you."

"Never seen _yours_ before, though," he growled, his smirk increasing impossibly. "Never imagined that the offspring of a Mudblood would have such…well-formed molecules."

She matched his smirk. "Yes, well, enjoy the view while you can, because I can assure you that this is a one-time deal."

"Is that so?" he drawled silkily as he stepped inside the room, pulling the door shut and sealing them inside together. "You look nervous, Weasley," he commented as he slithered toward her. "Do I make you nervous?"

"Hardly," she lied, hating the telltale hitch in her voice, her pulse racing with combined excitement and nerves. This certainly wasn't the first time she'd been alone with him, and it definitely wasn't the first time he'd made sexual advances at her, but it _was_ the first time she'd felt this exposed, this vulnerable, this _naked_.

_He's bluffing_ , she told herself, _just like always_. It was the game that they played.

For a moment, she considered pretending to take him up on his offer. What would he do if she actually stepped forward and reached for him, sliding her tongue inside his mouth? _He'd chicken out, that's what._

"I don't bite, Weasley," he murmured, stopping inches from her, and she felt excited trepidation. He didn't normally take the game this far. At this point, he would normally break off with a laugh and step away from her, making a comment such as, "In your dreams, Weasley."

However, he wasn't breaking off his advance. His eyes were clouded in unmistakable lust, and she watched, breathing heavily, as his eyes drank in her body, tracing over her curves, and lingering on the junction of her thighs. She knew that the lace of her panties left little to the imagination, and there was definite desire in his eyes. She'd seen that desire there before, during all their hours alone together in the library and the classroom after hours, but it had always been carefully controlled, guarded. "That is…unless you want me to," he added, his voice raspy.

Malfoy leaned down from where he towered over her, his lips nearing hers. Rose expected him to break off any moment…any moment… Just as his silky lips grazed hers, she turned her head, rejecting him, feeling confusion break through her cloud of lust. Why now? Why was he acting on their mutual attraction _now_ after all the time they'd spent together alone?

"I'm not one of your Barbie Dolls, Malfoy," she growled against his ear when, unfazed, his lips touched her throat, and he nipped her there, alighting her body with a fervent desire of its own. "If you think I'm going to let you fuck me, you're even barmier than I thought."

Rose felt him smile against her flesh, and her whole body was very aware of the unmistakable heavy prod against her hip, scorching her through his robes. Something primal, something undeniable was ignited inside of her, which only served to enrage her. She didn't _want_ to desire Scorpius Malfoy. Yes, he was a brilliant mind, and she admittedly sometimes enjoyed their banter, but he was mostly an arrogant, insufferable git—an arrogant, insufferable git who'd apparently slept with half the bloody school, if one was inclined to listen to gossip.

"Are you a virgin, Rose?"

Her face burned hotly at the question, and she swallowed hard. "Why, do you want to be the one to deflower me, _Scorpius_? How noble of you. Virginity is such a deplorable burden, is it not?"

"Would that be a yes?"

"That would be an _It's-none-of-your-damned-business_."

"I think you are," he replied with a low chuckle that rumbled in her ear; he was still pressed against her body. "I'd heard that you and that dimwit Langley shagged when you were dating, but I don't think that's true."

She rolled her eyes. "That moron couldn't handle that I wouldn't fuck him after one date, so he made it up. Going out with him was the biggest mistake of my life."

"What about Griffin? The bloke's my dorm mate, and he says the two of you shagged in the Astronomy Tower."

"Maybe we did, maybe we didn't, what's it to you?"

His grin widened impossibly further, and he rolled his hips, pointedly grinding his arousal against her stomach. She tried not to be affected by this, she really did; she willed her body not to respond to him on such a primal, instinctive level, but it acted of its own accord. _Traitorous flesh,_ she thought at the damp, swollen, and needy sensation between her legs.

"I don't think you did," Scorpius stated matter-of-factly, an infuriatingly smug expression on that pointy-chinned face of his. She wanted to punch him in that conceited mouth of his; she wanted to spread her legs like a common slag and let the git have his way with her. The two desires were equally all-encompassing, both fighting for dominance over the other.

"What's it to you, Malfoy?" she snarled at him. "Does nailing virgins give you extra brownie points or something?"

He grinned at her in delight. "You know something, Weasley? Sometimes I think you should've been in Slytherin."

"And sometimes I think _you_ should be returned to the family of ogres from which you were adopted, but here we are."

"Very cute, Weasley, but to answer your question: Virgins may not earn me extra points, but they _are_ incredibly tight. Plus, they make the most fantastic noises when I invade their bodies." He breathed the last line, his wide palm dropping to her hip at the same instant, his fingertips skimming the waistband of her panties, delving just inside.

She shivered, willing herself not to be aroused, not to want him, trying to focus on her disgust at the crudeness of his words. "How lucky for you," she stated, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. "You're just a regular Napoleon, aren't you, what with all that dividing and conquering?"

"Who's Napoleon?"

But he didn't care about her answer, that much was obvious as he pulled her earlobe between his lips, biting gently as his hands slid lightly up and down her sides—

The door to the locker room flung open abruptly, and Rose and Scorpius flew apart, startled.

"Miss Weasley and _Mr._ Malfoy," Headmistress McGonagall stated, her hands planted firmly on her hips. "Just what, may I ask, do you think you're doing?"

Her face burning, Rose couldn't do anything more than gawk at her Headmistress.

"It's my fault, Professor," Scorpius spoke up, sounding appropriately regretful. "I sort of…ambushed her in here. Punish me if you must, but Rose is innocent."

McGonagall was silent as she regarded the two of them.

Rose, for her part, could do nothing more than cover herself with her arms; she didn't dare look at Scorpius.

"For Merlin's sake, put some clothes on, Miss Weasley," McGonagall finally said, sounding haughtier than Rose had ever heard her. "Meet me in my office in twenty minutes. As for you, Mr. Malfoy, I'll deal with you later. You're not to leave school grounds—and I don't care what sort of plans you had with your parents today—or you'll be suspended immediately. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, ma'am. Crystal."

"Good, now off with you."

With an apologetic glance in her direction, Scorpius was gone in a flash. McGonagall glared at her one last time with an expression of extreme disappointment, and then she, too, was gone, leaving Rose to dress in a sort of cold numbness.

_Fuck._

After she and Griffin had been caught making out in the Astronomy Tower, McGonagall had warned Rose that if there were any further such incidents that her parents would be informed. She could possibly be kicked off the Gryffindor Quidditch team, assuming she wasn't suspended.

Or expelled.

_Fuck._


	2. Chapter Two: All Work and No Play

_Chapter Two: All Work and No Play_

oOo

She was going to murder that miserable, insufferable prick. She was going to make him die a slow and painful death for getting her into trouble with McGonagall, who'd made it quite clear the _last_ time Rose had gotten into trouble that she was on a sort of probationary period.

Not only was she missing out on going out with her friends at this very moment—granted, they were supposed to be celebrating over a _victory_ pint, not mourning over a _defeatist_ one—but she was in peril of being kicked off the team.

While Rose didn't believe that McGonagall would actually expel her, despite her threats to the contrary, suspension would be an exceedingly undesirable alternative. After all, Rose may like to have a little fun now and then—which more likely than not entailed breaking a few school rules—but she took her education very seriously, and suspension would most decidedly not be good for any future prospects.

"Have a seat, Miss Weasley."

_Stupid git_ , Rose thought miserably as she crossed her arms over her chest, flopping down in the chair on the other side of McGonagall's desk.

This was entirely that idiot Malfoy's fault, she fumed. She'd wanted nothing more than to change into clean robes and meet Al at The Three Broomsticks. She could be well on her way to getting shitfaced right about now: She'd intended on enjoying herself today, because tomorrow, Sunday, she'd planned on devoting the entire day to her pet project that she'd been working on for the last three years.

If he'd just left her well alone, she wouldn't be caught beneath McGonagall's withering glare; the older witch must think her a complete slag, when Rose was, in actuality, a virgin.

She'd enjoyed snogging that idiot Griffin. Dumb though he was, he was hot and he'd been a good kisser—not that she'd had any intentions of putting out. And Malfoy, well…she couldn't lie to herself. Rose was unsure of how far she would've let Malfoy go had McGonagall not barged in when she had. In truth, Rose ought to be thanking the woman for not letting her do something she might have regretted later.

However, Rose Weasley was nothing if not stubborn, and there was no way in hell she'd admit to her Headmistress that she might have let Malfoy fuck her. Hell would freeze over a thousand times first.

"Now," McGonagall said, crossing her arms over her desk as she leaned down, regarding the young woman seriously, and Rose found herself thinking how…formidable the older witch really was. In truth, Rose didn't like being on McGonagall's bad side, and she felt momentarily ashamed before reminding herself that she hadn't done anything wrong. Not really. "Before I deal out a punishment and contact your parents, I want to give you an opportunity to explain yourself. What did I walk into just now?"

"It's like Malfoy said, he ambushed me," Rose replied truthfully. "I'd just showered and was getting dressed when he came into the locker room and shut us inside together. I take full responsibility for not telling him to get lost immediately, but I'd like to reiterate that we weren't, in fact, _doing_ anything; nor did I have any intentions of letting him. " Well, it was the partial truth, at any rate. She hadn't, after all, _intended_ to let him do anything. Whether or not she _might_ have was another story entirely.

The older witch's eyebrow shot to her gray hairline. "It didn't appear as if you weren't intending to… _do_ …anything, Miss Weasley."

"I'm well aware of how it appeared, Professor," Rose replied, feeling torn between shame and a fervent desire to be defiant. She'd always liked McGonagall; she was a family friend and had had Christmas dinner at the Burrow on more than one occasion during the course of Rose's life. "It won't happen again. You have my word."

"Yes, that's also what you said when you were caught in a compromising position with that _other_ Slytherin boy, Griffin."

Rose's frustration mounted, outshining her shame. "But this was an accident!" she protested, her temper getting the best of her. Glancing up, she saw several of Hogwarts' former Headmasters watching on curiously from their frames, including Professor Dumbledore, whose blue eyes were quite piercing behind the half-moon spectacles. Rose looked back at Professor McGonagall, ignoring the portraits. "I didn't _know_ that Scorpius would ambush me in the locker room, and I was trying to work out a way of getting rid of him while still saving face when you busted into the room! Contrary to popular belief, I'm not some sort of—of Slytherin-seducing slag!"

She expected the Headmistress to react sternly to Rose's admittedly childish outburst, but, instead, her features softened somewhat, a look of sympathy touching those formidable eyes. "It was not my intention to imply that, Miss Weasley." She paused for a moment, regarding the young woman, before smiling gently. "It astounds me sometimes how very much like your mother you are in some ways, yet you definitely inherited your father's temperament. That's not a bad thing, mind you," she added when Rose's eyes flashed at her. "Not always."

"Professor, I realize that I haven't always demonstrated…model behavior, but it's not as if I'm out shagging the whole school, and I've managed to successfully balance my grades, social life, and Quidditch, have I not? I work very hard to ensure that one doesn't affect the other."

"Rose, I assume you've wondered why you weren't selected as Head Girl."

Her attention was captured by the abrupt switch to her first name, and Rose had to fight the urge to reply snottily, _No, Minerva, why is that?_ "The thought had crossed my mind."

"Your rather…creative excursions aside," McGonagall responded, the corners of her lips lifting ever-so-slightly, and Rose knew that her Headmistress must be thinking about the time Rose and her cousins had managed to turn all of Slytherin Houses' skin green for an entire week, "I do not believe you are living up to your full potential."

Rose stared at the elder witch, aghast. "My—my full potential? My grades are top-notch!" she protested, feeling outraged. "I'm the top of my year! I got twelve O.W.L.s, most of them Outstanding, as you well know, and I'm going to kill at my N.E.W.T.s this year, too! Not only that, but I'm being scouted for my Quidditch abilities, and several of my papers on temporal interference and the tangential effects it has on the space-time continuum have been published by—"

"I'm not arguing your brilliance," McGonagall cut in. "On the contrary, that's exactly my point. As Headmistress of Hogwarts and therefore the primary guardian of all students during their stay at this castle, I have access to all my students' files—including medical and psychological data. I'm very much aware that your mother had you tested at a young age and that you're certifiably a genius, which you've proven in certain academic achievements, but I find it difficult to believe that a certifiable genius could score a mere 'Exceeds Expectations' in History of Magic if she were, indeed, living up to her full potential."

Rose let out an incredulous laugh at that: "Is that what this is about? _My History of Magic O.W.L.?_ Because that's easily explained by the fact that Professor Binns's lectures bore me to tears, and besides which, my interests lie elsewhere."

"No, that was merely intended to be used as an example. It's also about the fact that while you may be top of your year—and only by a small fraction of a point, I might add—you're not the top of the school. That position, I'm afraid, belongs to Miss Spencer, a Ravenclaw sixth-year, which is a pity, given that your intelligence exceeds hers."

"No offense, Professor, but I really don't care about that. I'm not some…some snotty little know-it-all, obsessed with grades and being _the best_ …" She paused, something occurring to her. "Wait, this is about your pride in Gryffindor House, isn't it? You just want a Gryffindor to be the top of the school."

For the first time, Professor McGonagall's face became somewhat stony, and she sat up straighter. "I would be lying if I said I didn't take pride in Gryffindor House—and in you in particular—but as it happens, I take pride in _all_ my students and wish them all to live up to their full potential, and I know for a fact that you are not doing that."

"You sound like my mother," Rose muttered, rubbing her now-throbbing temples. "She'd have me quit Quidditch and move into the library if she had her way."

"I don't wish you to quit Quidditch. However, I _would_ prefer if you spent less time in the Astronomy Tower after hours."

Rose's face reddened. "That was an isolated incident."

McGonagall merely raised an eyebrow at that. "Somehow, I doubt that, seeing as you and your cousins find the time to play pranks on the Slytherins after hours, which are rather mediocre uses of your talents, I might add." She paused: "If you'd applied yourself more fully to that potion, I know for a fact that you could have turned their skin green for an entire _month_."

For the first time since entering the Headmistress's office, Rose's lips turned up a near-smile. "What do you want from me, Professor? You want me to give up all my extracurricular activities to study harder? Is that my punishment for what _didn't_ happen in the locker room today?"

McGonagall stared at her long and hard, and Rose met that fierce gaze unwaveringly. "As it happens, I've read your essays on temporal interference, and I have to admit I'm impressed." Again, Professor McGonagall was smiling slightly, and Rose couldn't help but feel a glowing pride at the rare praise from her Headmistress. "You're working on a project outside of your academic pursuits, are you not? Attempting to practically apply your theories on temporal interference and quantum mechanics?"

"Yes, well, I'm attempting to create a device which allows one to travel along coordinate axes beyond the three spatial axes that we're familiar with," Rose confirmed enthusiastically, "thereby allowing one to breach into unknown 'worlds' or 'alternate realities,' which, of course, are created by quantum events. I actually got the idea from a Time-Turner. The principles are similar, yet while Wizarding kind has been able to achieve time travel, exploring alternate realties, or alternate histories is, as of yet, unachieved, but I believe I'm on the verge of a break-through."

She went silent, realizing that McGonagall was staring at her in perplexed amazement. "I thought that something more worthwhile than boys, pranks, and Quidditch must be occupying your time outside of class."

"Anyway, I was planning on spending all day tomorrow working on it."

"Miss Weasley, I find it difficult to imagine that you would be interested in Quidditch—or boys, for that matter—with that sort of colossal achievement on the foreseeable horizon."

Rose gave her best Weasley half-grin. "Yeah, well, all work and no play makes Rose a dull girl."

oOo

"What happened to you after the match?" Albus Potter bombarded Rose the moment she had climbed into the portrait hole leading to the Gryffindor common room, grabbing her arm and yanking her into a corner. Over her cousin and best friend's shoulder, she saw a knot of girls whispering in excited voices, throwing not-so-discrete glances in her direction.

"Sorry about that," Rose apologized in a low tone. "I know I was supposed to meet up with you at The Three Broomsticks, but I was sidetracked—"

"Jacinda Brown has been telling everyone that you and Malfoy were caught by McGonagall shagging in the girls' locker room." His tone was hesitant as he pushed a hand absently through his disheveled black hair.

Rose felt murderous suddenly, her eyes shooting toward the gaggle of girls. "Jacinda Brown gets off on stirring shit up, but I assure you that rumors of my promiscuous tendencies toward Slytherin men are highly exaggerated. " In a loud voice, she added: "I prefer to fuck the boyfriends of obnoxious, loud-mouthed Gryffindor girls who can't keep their magically-reduced noses in their own damned business."

The girls looked appropriately scandalized—and maybe even a little fearful—as they skulked their way up to their dormitories, their noses in the air while Al chortled.

"Well, I'd say if your name hasn't already been secured as being synonymous with 'school slag,' then that probably did it," he said with a chuckle.

"Hmm, and McGonagall seems to think I'm not living up to my full potential," she replied with a laugh of her own. "'School slag' has a nice ring to it. Mum would be so proud."

"So what really happened?" Al asked a few minutes later when they were seated in front of the hearth, her head on his shoulder as she propped her feet on the low, shabby coffee table, her legs crossed at the ankles.

"Well, I went to take a shower, and when I came out and started to dress, Malfoy came in and started drooling all over me. Long story short, we didn't do anything, but McGonagall came in, and I can see how it _looked_ really bad, what with me being half-naked and his hands being all over me."

"You let him put his hands all over you?" Al asked with a grin, sounding surprised and somehow not-so-surprised at the same time.

"Yeah, well, maybe I kinda, sorta liked it, but if you tell anyone I might have to kill you."

"Did you snog him?"

"No, but he tried. I wouldn't let him." _Instead, I simply stood there and let him suck on my neck and grind himself against my body,_ she added silently. _I probably would've let him take off my knickers and stick his dick inside me if McGonagall hadn't interfered, but kissing? Nah, that's way too intimate._

She and Al had been close their entire lives, but she couldn't bring herself to admit this to him, which to Rose would be tantamount to admitting a weakness. She didn't _want_ to desire Scorpius, and the fact that she'd very nearly allowed her hormones to take over her brain filled her with utmost shame and regret.

While Wizards and Witches didn't have to worry about things like sexually transmitted diseases (an Inoculation Potion was required for every student at the start of their first year), she found herself wondering if she would've thought about the Contraceptive Charm. She tried to convince herself that she would have, but the truth of the matter was that she wasn't so sure; it had been the furthest thing on her mind at the time.

_That_ idea also filled her with shame, as Rose had always prided herself on being more intelligent and sensible than that.

"You wanted to, though, didn't you?" Al was asking her.

"What?" she asked, her ears heating up in typical Weasley fashion. "Wanted to what?"

Al gave her an odd look as he sat up straight, adjusting his glasses. "You wanted…to…to shag him, didn't you?" he blurted.

" _Would you keep your voice down?"_ she hissed, her eyes flashing around the seemingly deserted common room. You never knew when someone might be climbing in the portrait hole or coming down the stairs. "And to answer your question, no! Of course not. He's… _Malfoy_!"

His grin widened as he stared at her, and inexplicably she was reminded on the smug expression on Scorpius's face in the locker room earlier. "Yep, you wanted it, I can tell you're lying by how red your ears are. So maybe the rumors about your promiscuous tendencies toward Slytherin men _aren't_ so highly exaggerated after all."

"I don't have to sit here and listen to this," she said, rising to her feet. "If I wanted to subject myself to childish speculations I'd hang out with Jacinda and her crowd. Besides which, this is all real rich coming from you—don't you have a thing for Hufflepuff girls?"

"No, that would be your boyfriend. I prefer Ravenclaws—you know, girls I can actually _talk_ to."

"As opposed to girls who give good head?" she was unable to resist adding.

"It's possible to have the best of both worlds, if one is to believe the rumors about _you_."

Her face flushed even hotter at his implications. "Does it not disturb you?" she teased. "Talking about your own cousin like that?"

"Well, you know what they say—incest is the best."

She laughed, shaking her head. "I think you're becoming more like James all the time."

"Or more like you. We spend _way_ too much time together."

"Well, let's remedy that, then. Goodbye, Al."

"Wait up, Rose," he said with a laugh, grabbing her arm as she made to leave. "I'm sorry—seriously. We don't have to talk about Malfoy. So what did McGonagall say? Are you being punished? Tell me you're not being kicked off the Quidditch team!"

"No," she replied as she sat back down, tucking her annoying hair behind her ears. She hadn't had an opportunity to treat it with the Sleakeasy potion yet, and as such the bright red stuff was a tangled, frizzy, bushy mess. She must look ridiculous.

With a surge of horror, she was briefly reminded of the cruel childhood nickname given to her by some of the Muggle kids in her neighborhood: Ronald McDonald. Upon realizing what it meant, she'd insisted on taking the time to tame the cursed stuff every single day.

"No, I'm not being kicked off the team," she said with a small frown. "She seems to think I'm not living up to my 'full potential,' so I'm…grounded, so to speak. I'm not allowed to leave school grounds. At least, not until I've finished the project."

"The project? McGonagall wants you to finish _the_ project?"

"Yep."

"Well," Al said after a moment, "at least it's almost done, right?"

"In theory. I'm going to test it tomorrow."

He stared at her like she'd lost her mind: "Tomorrow? I thought you said you weren't quite ready?"

"Well, I still need to compensate for the telemetry differentiation—"

"Yeah, yeah, don't use that techno-babble on me," he said, raising his hands.

"Right," she laughed. "I forgot you're an ignorant, moronic, subhuman git."

"No, that would be your boyfriend. Me, I'm just a bloke."

"Call him my boyfriend one more time, and I'll hex you so good that the next time you go to wank, you'll be ejaculating something you _really_ don't wanna be ejaculating."

"Charming."

"Isn't it, though?" she asked her cousin with a smirk and a wink. "I invented the hex myself, so you can bet your arse it's effective."


End file.
